


The One Where They're in a Hospital

by RadiantSeraphina (Lady_Arrowwood)



Series: It's an Alternate Universe, Kirby! [3]
Category: Kirby (Video Games), Kirby - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hospital, Gen or Pre-Slash, Gijinka, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-11
Updated: 2018-02-11
Packaged: 2019-03-17 00:59:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13648092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Arrowwood/pseuds/RadiantSeraphina
Summary: Meta Knight wakes up in a body that isn't his own and in a world where his friends don't seem to know who he is.





	The One Where They're in a Hospital

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wingsrabbitsandinbetween](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=wingsrabbitsandinbetween).



> Wingsrabbitsandinbetween requested a Metadede hospital AU and later sent me an edgy storyline based upon a hospital AU. I changed a few things and attempted to incorporate both Metadede *and* some of the edgier headcanons.

He woke to sharp, persistent pain which spread all over his head and face. When Meta Knight sat upright, his stomach lurched, and the room spun, drifting in and out of focus. Something soft and white was beneath him. Meta Knight leaned forward, and something felt very wrong. He felt wrong. Galaxia’s persistent fire was absent, as well as Meta Knight’s own sense of the layers between dimensions.

 

He lifted his paw, and it wasn’t a paw at all. He had fingers. Meta Knight threw the covers aside, staring at the newfound legs and feet that weren’t his. He was having a difficult time putting to words how he felt at the incomprehensible revelation, but it was difficult for him to think much at all except for how harshly the pain in his head was. He stumbled from the bed—it was a bed. Yes—and nearly tripped in the blanket.

 

What was this? His stomach lurched again, and Meta Knight felt bile rise in his throat. There was another room, strange and clinical-looking, but there was a sink. There was something that might be a toilet.

 

Meta Knight groaned and mumbled something under his breath.

 

There was a mirror.

 

This wasn’t his body. This wasn’t his face. Meta Knight put his fingers to the mirror. Then, to his face.

 

This new form was vaguely reminiscent of Nightmare’s, although Meta Knight couldn’t recall Nightmare ever looking so _wounded_. The right side of Meta Knight’s face was swollen, bruised, and stitched up with stark black thread in three different places. Meta Knight had never seen any of Nightmare’s kind—not that Meta Knight had seen many—with skin this color either. Nightmare’s skin was pale with a hint of grey to it, but _this_ was the furthest thing from it. _This_ was a warm, soft brown, the color feldspar. The hair near his temple had been shaved away to make room for a fourth cluster of stitches. Meta Knight tentatively ran his fingers through his hair. It was long and silky, sort of like Drawcia’s, but his hair was midnight-blue with pale, white-blond close to his scalp.

 

Meta Knight took a step back, his wide eyes fixed on the mirror. One of his eyes was gold, the other grey. This wasn’t his face. This wasn’t even his eyes. Meta Knight’s stomach churned, whether from the pain and dizziness or the dawning revelation, he wasn’t sure.

 

Meta Knight dropped to his knees and emptied his stomach into the toilet. A hand brushed his neck and gathered his hair back at the nape of his neck. The hand remained there even when Meta Knight, gasping and heaving, finished. He swallowed, grimacing at the taste in his mouth.

 

“You done?”

 

Meta Knight nodded, and the hand released him.

 

“You coulda called if you need help!”

 

Meta Knight’s head shot up at the sound of the familiar voice. “Dedede!”

 

Meta Knight shakily stood and turned around, but his Lord looked nothing like Meta Knight had expected. Dedede was humanoid now, too. He was broad and tall, easily towering over Meta Knight. There went any novelty Meta Knight might’ve had at being tall; even in this new form he was tiny. Dedede’s skin wasn’t like Nightmare’s, but it wasn’t like Meta Knight’s either. It was somewhere in between with a bit of redness and freckles spanning Dedede’s nose and cheeks. His hair was almost the color of his plumage, and his eyes were the same deep, royal blue.

 

“I know ya from somewhere?” Dedede asked.

 

“Dedede, it’s me. Meta Knight.”

 

Dedede nodded very slowly. “Yeah, that’s pretty good! Can you remember your last name?”

 

Something was wrong.

 

“Last name?”

 

Dedede offered a hand. “Lemme help you back to bed. Ya don’t look too good,” Dedede said.

 

“No, but I—I don’t understand. Where am I? What happened? Where is Galaxia?”

 

“She’s here. I’ll give her a call as soon as ya get back to bed. Dr. Rosales won’t like ya being up and at ‘em yet,” Dedede replied with a wink.

 

Rosales? Doctor?

 

“Rosebush?” Meta Knight asked.

 

Dedede gently took his elbow and led him back to bed. “I dun know nothing ‘bout no rosebushes,” Dedede replied.

 

“No, I—Dedede, don’t you remember me?” Meta Knight asked.

 

Meta Knight turned around and sat on the bed, gazing up at Dedede.

 

“Well, ‘course I does! Who could forget someone as cute as you, little knight?”

 

Meta Knight felt the same flutter in his stomach that he always felt when Dedede called him pet names, but unlike usual, Meta Knight quelled the urge to make a show of arguing about it. He wasn’t entirely convinced that Dedede _did_ recognize him, though.

 

“Dedede, I—”

 

“Lay down now,” Dedede said. “You cain’t be doing too much with that concussion.”

 

“Concussion?”

 

That explained the dizziness, vomiting, and pain in his skull.

 

“Yeah, you just showed up outside the ER,” Dedede said. “Didn’t none of us really know much ‘bout you. Good thing you had your ID on ya. We got in touch with your Dad.”

 

His father. That explained a lot.

 

“Where is my ID?” Meta Knight asked.

 

“Lay down, and I’ll give it to ya,” Dedede said, crossing his arms. “C’mon. You ain’t s’posed to be up.”

 

“Mother hen,” Meta Knight sighed, as he obeyed.

 

“Comes with the territory,” Dedede replied, adding a wink.

 

Meta Knight’s stomach fluttered. As Dedede passed him something small, made of black leather, their fingers touched. Meta Knight felt warmth flood his face, as if the warmth from their fingers had moved inside and beneath his skin. “You…really don’t remember me, do you?” Meta Knight asked.

 

Dedede’s face looked suddenly serious. “Well…” he trailed off, rubbing the back of his head. “Not really. Are ya sure it ain’t just the concussion messing with you? I’ve been here a couple a times. It ain’t outta the realm o’ possibility you remember me from that.”

 

Meta Knight considered his options. He could either tell Dedede, or he could not.

 

“Maybe,” Meta Knight decided, relenting.

 

Talk to Galaxia and see what she knew. That was the best course of action. Meta Knight took the leather packet and flipped it open. His new face, solemn and half-smiling, gazed at him.

_Meta Knight Nocturne de Brillante Armadura_.

 

“How…old am I?” Meta Knight asked.

 

Dedede glanced at the ID. “Nineteen,” he said.

 

 _Nineteen_. Meta Knight couldn’t remember ever being so young.

 

There were cards—sleek and black. Only one of them bore Meta Knight’s name. The rest were embossed with the name _Nightmare Nocturne._

 

“Water?” Dedede asked, offering a cup.

 

Meta Knight set the cards aside and took the water, drinking it greedily. “Slow, now,” Dedede said, “Or you’ll make yourself sick.”

 

A bit embarrassed, Meta Knight lowered the cup. “I’m confused,” he admitted.

 

“Hey, it’s okay!” Dedede exclaimed. “Ya got a concussion is all. It ain’t uncommon to be a bit outta sorts, but it’s usually stuff that works itself out purty quick.”

 

But concussions didn’t cause things like this.

 

* * *

 

 

Meta Knight only knew he’d fallen asleep because he woke to a soft fluttering of voices. He vaguely remembered Dedede had mentioned Galaxia would come for him, which helped Meta Knight push past some of the lethargy. “Gala—” Meta Knight’s words died in his throat as the Nightmare Wizard took the space beside the bed.

 

Nightmare looked young and tired. Although the wizard wore glasses, Meta Knight could see the dark shadows under the man’s eyes. His skin was pale and stretched over a fine-boned structure, which had lost some of its exaggerated sharpness. He might’ve been beautiful in a cold, unnatural sort of way. This was Father centuries before he’d become the Nightmare Wizard, the intergalactic conqueror. The man’s very presence raised goosebumps on Meta Knight’s new skin. “Hello,” Meta Knight said, not deigning to call him _Father_.

 

Nightmare’s slender fingers seized Meta Knight’s jaw. Although the wizard’s fingers didn’t fall directly upon the stitches, when he dug them in, it sent jolts of deep, throbbing pain up Meta Knight’s face. “What a mess you’re in,” Nightmare murmured.

 

Nightmare’s touch softened until it was as delicate as a butterfly lighting on a flower. Those fingers smoothed back Meta Knight’s hair and remained far from the area that’d been shaved away. Maybe Nightmare hadn’t realized he’d actually caused Meta Knight any pain, or maybe it was merely a trick. Nightmare’s preferred punishments usually involved alternating pain with gentleness.

 

“What have you done?” Meta Knight asked.

 

Nightmare’s lips curled into a sneer. “You _would_ blame me,” Nightmare said. “Nineteen years of taking care of you, and this is how you choose to thank me?”

 

 _Nineteen. Nineteen._ That was how old this body was. What was the connection there?

“How did you become my father?” Meta Knight asked.

 

Nightmare’s sneer gave way to concern. “I am your biological father,” Nightmare said. “Nova’s grace, how hard _did_ you hit your head?”

 

Nightmare let his hand hover over Meta Knight’s stitches, his fingers never touching them.

 

Was it a trap, or was Nightmare truly as confused as everyone else seemed to be? Meta Knight furrowed his brow and winced as the movement pulled at the stitches and bruising. “I’m confused,” Meta Knight admitted.

 

This wasn’t his life. This wasn’t _any_ of their lives.

 

“Do you remember anything?” Nightmare asked.

 

No. Yes. Sort of. “Haltmann?” Meta Knight offered.

 

“My business partner?”

 

Since _when_? Meta Knight frowned, as he searched Nightmare’s face for any hint of deception. It wasn’t that Meta Knight believed Nightmare was always _truthful_ , but Nightmare wasn’t _subtle_. It would be more in-character for him to start cackling and gloating if this was his doing.

 

“Is he dead?” Meta Knight asked.

 

“No,” Nightmare said slowly. “I spoke to him just this morning. He’d mentioned Susanna might visit once you’re out of here.”

 

“I don’t want to see her.”

 

“Why?” Nightmare asked. “Did she hurt you? Did she have something to do with this?”

 

Although Nightmare never raised his voice, his fury was palpable. If Susie Haltmann had hurt Meta Knight, Nightmare was ready to make sure she paid for it.

 

“No,” Meta Knight said, unsure what to do with the knowledge that President Haltmann was alive _and_ evidently Nightmare’s business partner.

 

And business? What business?

 

“I don’t feel like seeing anyone,” Meta Knight admitted, “Except maybe Kirby.”

 

And Dedede. And Galaxia.

 

“Kirby is waiting at home for you,” Nightmare said soothingly.

 

At home. He and Meta Knight lived together? But the way Nightmare said _home_ made it sound as if he lived there as well.

 

“I know, dear,” Nightmare said. “It’ll be fine, though. I’ll take you home. You can rest and recuperate.”

 

Whatever his intentions, Nightmare’s home wouldn’t remind Meta Knight so much of Haltmann Works. It would probably be dark and regal. Very much to Meta Knight’s taste and without the uncomfortable, sterile smell.

 

“He won’t be able to go home tonight,” a beautiful, familiar, _wonderful_ voice said.

 

The woman who entered was as tall as Nightmare. Her skin was a blending of darkness and lightness. While mostly night-dark, over Galaxia’s nose and cheeks spread a smattering of cream and white, as if someone had spattered her with paint. Her thick, blonde curls were pulled back at the nape of her neck, several pieces of hair escaping the confines of her bun. She smiled with her mouth and with her red-brown eyes. When Galaxia called Meta Knight’s name, it felt as if day was dawning after a long, harried night, but with that calm, polite invocation, Meta Knight knew—without any doubt—that Dr. Galaxia Rosales had no idea who he was.

 

 


End file.
